


Little Mouse

by ninamazing



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-07
Updated: 2006-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/ninamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Mal'd be lying if he didn't say he felt a complete fool for just assuming that a girl so graceful and intuitive wasn't a trained killer.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Mouse

He stared at her, Jayne's words echoing in his mind.

 _In earnest, Mal, why'd you bring her back on?_

Malcolm Reynolds had always made it his prerogative not to have to explain himself to anybody under his command. This was one of the many times he was finding that very, very useful.

She lay before him, looking sweet as rock candy and harmless as a little mouse. Mal could barely believe himself that just a few hours earlier she'd been kicking and punching men right where she knew it would hurt, where it would cause the quickest death. He'd never liked her brother, even from the start, but somehow he'd trusted him. None of them had ever questioned his story, or the little sister who had certainly given them plenty of reasons to question. The knife wound, the gun killings -- in the end they'd all just accepted her, without even knowing a tenth of her power. Mal'd be lying if he didn't say he felt a complete fool for just assuming that a girl so graceful and intuitive wasn't a trained killer.

A trained killer, but not a born one. It was unfair to judge folk after they'd been dealt with by the Alliance; Mal knew that. Hell, he stuck to his own stubborn belief that he wasn't a monster, wasn't a petty thief, wasn't nothing. His cheer had long gone, but the charm hadn't, and neither had the honor -- Mal liked to think he was a man others could admire. He liked to think he helped folk, though he wouldn't admit that to anyone, least of all Simon, who wouldn't be able to conceal his snort of laughter, or Shepherd, who would see it as an invitation to convert him, or Kaylee, who would agree without question and remind him of it every time helping someone was a good deal less convenient than moving on.

Moving on would have been convenient right about the time they entered the Maidenhead, but for whatever gorramed reason her face had been flashing through his head on a whirligig. He'd had half a mind to go find her himself until she appeared, in her own spectacular way, and Mal saw something that made his mind even more crazy for her than it was before.

So this was what they'd done to her at that _gôu pì_ facility. Mal gazed even more intently at her forehead, wondering if he could figure out, as she did so easily, what went on behind it. He wondered how it felt to have someone storm into your life, cut bits of your brain out, and make you a killing tool for them. Probably not overly pleasant.

She had been smart before -- probably a genius according to everyone who knew her, marked for success. It was written all over her face, how much she understood; Mal wondered how much of that had come from pain. He wondered how often she used to smile or dance, who her friends were, if she had had even the barest notion of what went on behind her cozy Alliance-led world.

Stupid, he thought, he was stupid, he could never understand her; he was stupid to think he had troubles, to hold a terrible grudge, when all he'd done was lost a war, same as thousands of others; he was stupid, and that's when she turned in her sleep and Mal jumped a fuckin' mile.

"Mal," she whispered, and his hand shot to his gun. Maybe he was hallucinating. She stayed still now, and she had handcuffs. Mal guessed she could probably still kill him in the smaller part of three seconds, but he was too riveted to leave. Why would this girl be thinking on him at a time like this?

"Mal," she said this time, louder, and the expression on her face was one of such sadness that he forgot she wasn't awake and knelt to touch her cheek. Her face relaxed. "Mal," came the tiny cry, so soft it could barely be heard, and she curled into herself and moved almost imperceptibly toward him, as if she could feel him next to her. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes were full of shock and sympathy and something else that looked a great deal like confusion, but could have been fear, or maybe want.

Mal remembered that he was in a room with a window and that there were six other people on _Serenity_ with them. He touched a hand to his holster -- brought him back to normalcy -- and willed himself not to look back as he left the compartment.

Women. Could always tell where they weren't wanted, and that's exactly where they went. Maybe it's 'cause they conjured it was where they were needed the most.


End file.
